VOL. XVI, NO. 14
JUNE 6, 1975
Senior Recalls Memories Of Life
at Maine West
at Maine West
By LORRIE SWANSON
From the first Orchesis show to the last anticipation of flashing lights at 7:50 will we ever be able to forget our days of yore here at Maine West. For the Class of '75 the best years of our lives began on August 31, 1971, at approximately 8 a. m.
Remember how we were roused from a sound sleep only to be late for our first homeroom assembly. There, the late Mr. Herman Rider informed us that we were the best Freshman Class ever; and what senior will ever forget this quote of significance, "When do we eat!"
What freshman by the end of the year didn't have a punched I.D. for wearing a halter‑top, or in my own case, "playfully kicking a fellow student's ankles" from the LRC. How can we forget freshman health where we learned the seven warning signs of cancer.
As sophomores we too found ourselves maliciously schraffing recruited frosh's textbooks in the hallowed halls of Maine, just as it was done unto us the year before. We went around thanking God that we weren't queer anymore like we were as freshmen. And for the first time our sophomore football team played under the lights of the stadium and got into the "weekend sports results."
From the first Orchesis show to the last anticipation of flashing lights at 7:50 will we ever be able to forget our days of yore here at Maine West. For the Class of '75 the best years of our lives began on August 31, 1971, at approximately 8 a. m.
Remember how we were roused from a sound sleep only to be late for our first homeroom assembly. There, the late Mr. Herman Rider informed us that we were the best Freshman Class ever; and what senior will ever forget this quote of significance, "When do we eat!"
What freshman by the end of the year didn't have a punched I.D. for wearing a halter‑top, or in my own case, "playfully kicking a fellow student's ankles" from the LRC. How can we forget freshman health where we learned the seven warning signs of cancer.
As sophomores we too found ourselves maliciously schraffing recruited frosh's textbooks in the hallowed halls of Maine, just as it was done unto us the year before. We went around thanking God that we weren't queer anymore like we were as freshmen. And for the first time our sophomore football team played under the lights of the stadium and got into the "weekend sports results."
We still didn't have the pleasure of taking a day off for an over‑accumulation of snow; the most we could hope for were extended homerooms. But thanks to some miscalculating on behalf of some sewer workers, the juice that fed Maine West was cut off due to severed electrical power lines. These unexpected occasions drove the entire Sophomore Class to the home of our current Senior Class president.
By junior year, most of us were over our fear of nude showers during gym class. Many of us became more bold in our attempts to have open campus, by using "Doodle's" as a hang out and an unofficial smoking lounge. Most of us made it through "Mechanized Death" and who will forget the "Phantom Crayon's" familiar scrawl on the hallowed walls of Maine.
The jets from O'Hare still fly low over Maine, and Operation Libra is a thing of the past. In our senior year most of us have hopefully bloomed into mature, young adults; and the yearning we have felt since freshman year to be free is steadily increased. By now we have passed the federal Constitution Test with a little help from our friends. Mr. Robert Riek still patrols R-111 telling us to throw our garbage away, and our homeroom teachers have given up checking our eyes for tell-tale symptoms of drug abuse.
Maybe the best years of our lives weren't so bad after all.
By junior year, most of us were over our fear of nude showers during gym class. Many of us became more bold in our attempts to have open campus, by using "Doodle's" as a hang out and an unofficial smoking lounge. Most of us made it through "Mechanized Death" and who will forget the "Phantom Crayon's" familiar scrawl on the hallowed walls of Maine.
The jets from O'Hare still fly low over Maine, and Operation Libra is a thing of the past. In our senior year most of us have hopefully bloomed into mature, young adults; and the yearning we have felt since freshman year to be free is steadily increased. By now we have passed the federal Constitution Test with a little help from our friends. Mr. Robert Riek still patrols R-111 telling us to throw our garbage away, and our homeroom teachers have given up checking our eyes for tell-tale symptoms of drug abuse.
Maybe the best years of our lives weren't so bad after all.